


the lights are the prettiest, i think... or maybe you are

by starryeyedhomicide



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, adhsjak sorry it’s 2am and I just wanted to write smn xmassy, for the lads. they gay, im sorry i always write first kisses but fuck u fanfic is self indulgent and Lordy i am i that, this is fulla pining and christmas, yeet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21880144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryeyedhomicide/pseuds/starryeyedhomicide
Summary: They’re gay and it’s christmas and it snows because Crowley would do anything to make Aziraphale happy. A silly thing I wrote at 2am.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	the lights are the prettiest, i think... or maybe you are

**Author's Note:**

> YALL ADJDJSKALA I have nothin to say except this has no discernible plot and I just started writing and didn’t stop til I’d finished and honey u can tell  
> enjoy!!

They’d decided not to go to The Ritz that evening, and had instead gone to a bar in which Aziraphale had been a patron for some hundred years. They were a little tipsy but they didn’t really mind, and Crowley, being the bastard he is, drove the Bentley anyway. It wasn’t like he was going to hit anyone - he could miracle them safe - and besides, he drove irresponsibly when he was sober regardless. The demon hissed at the chilly December air, and rushed to the car, pointy shoes crunching in the ice.

“To the bookshop then, angel?” Crowley grinned, street lamps catching his glasses and looking completely infatuated as he shut the car door and settled in his seat. He was, but said angel was painfully oblivious and also a bit drunk, so thought nothing more of it than a smile between friends. 

“N-no my dear. I think we’ve spent the last few weeks almost entirely at my bookshop, and seeing as we had a change in scenery tonight, why not do the same? What.. what was it that singer you’re always playing said? Ju- yes!  _ Just take me back to yours, that will be fine _ .” Aziraphale looked extremely proud that he’d remembered the lyric, and Crowley’s heart exploded into a million lovestruck pieces in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to kiss him in that moment, but quietly shut himself down. It was almost funny- when he was clear-headed his attempts to cease any emotion were frantic and desperate; but drunkenness made him eerily calm despite his rib cage being hammered into - perhaps because in that hazy state he could accept it. It being that he was smitten for Aziraphale and Aziraphale was certainly not. But he’d been silent for too long now, so he choked out a strangled but happy reply.

“He. He did, he did say that yes.” The demon tore his eyes away from Aziraphale and tried not to look too fond. “So you do actually listen!” Now the angel’s smug smirk was replaced with mock offence and a shocked gasp.

“I do listen, thank you very much! When it’s not all that loud guitar and- and those high notes and talking about fighting-“

“Relax, Aziraphale, I’m joking. You really want to go back to mine?” Keeping his voice purposefully relaxed, he tilted his head and drummed his hands on the steering wheel, releasing nervous energy through his fingertips. 

“Well, yes. I haven’t been there since… goodness, since when?” Clicking his seatbelt in, Aziraphale turned and beamed at Crowley. 

“Precisely why we should go!”

“Alright. Let’s  _ get a wiggle on then _ .” Crowley stuck out his tongue and started the car, the engine rumbling to life. Aziraphale made a disapproving sound at being made fun of, but his smile stayed firmly in place. 

The streetlights made the car glow every few seconds as they drove, reminiscent of runway lights, and a sudden inhale from Aziraphale made Crowley turn his head in worry. 

“Look!” Leaning forward, the angel pointed out of the windscreen, and then his window, face lit up with the dozens of Christmas lights he was pointing to. His face was filled with wonder as he breathed softly, gazing at the lit-up trees, twinkling houses and glimmering driveways. Even of the streetlights had curling decorations of snowflakes and stars strapped to their long grey poles. Aziraphale was silent for a few seconds, but when he spoke it was so quiet that it made Crowley jump.

“You know, with all the ineffability and Sides and all that, you would think my favourite part of Christmas would be everyone celebrating Jesus and all of that. Of course I appreciate it- and he was really quite nice, but that’s not it. It’s not the food, either, but that’s not to say I don’t immensely enjoy it.” He chuckled, and in the moment of stillness that followed before he further talked, Crowley was so enthralled that the Bentley drove itself on sheer miracle energy for a solid 10 seconds without him noticing.

“No, my dear. For some people, it’s the snow, and for some it’s just being with loved ones.” He said that last part carefully, like stepping on eggshells, because he didn’t want to let anything unsaid be accidentally revealed in a single tone of voice. Conversation was strange like that, and while sober Aziraphale was a master at hiding feelings (or so he thought), inebriated Aziraphale wasn’t as good as that. Quickly moving on so that it didn’t look like he paused, his mind raced at how the tiny intricacies of voice could convey a thousand different meanings. Crowley, of course, did not notice this at all, and was too enraptured by the gentle glittering on the side of the angel’s face.

“My favourite part is the lights.” Saying this, he glanced out the window again, unconsciously smiling every time he glimpsed more decorations. Strangely enough, drunk though he was, Aziraphale did not stutter once now.

“They’re so beautiful. So many colours and patterns, shapes and symbols, and each one of them has had so much thought and care put into them. And they’re just sort of.. signs. That humanity loves flashy bright things, and when they’re all looking at them together, just happy at how pretty they are, they are all children again.”

Realising he was spouting a small amount of nonsense, Aziraphale straightened in his seat and adjusted his lapels, slightly embarrassed that he had said such a thing. Hastily, he spoke again before Crowley could.

“It’s not only that though! It’s the love as well. You know how I can sense love- how, how angels can sense love. Well, people are really in love when they’re watching them, and the love feels warm and bright just like the lights. But- but that’s silly, my dear, and I’ve been blabbering along. Forgive me.” Nervously smiling, the angel looked to Crowley for both validation and a sign he wasn’t driving him away with drivel about love- goodness knew demons didn’t care about love or that sort of thing.

Crowley, unsure of what to say, had many, many words in his head, and a lot of them he couldn’t say. Instead, he chose the simplest option, and plucked words out of the air in hoping he could make a coherent sentence.

“You could say,” the demon murmured, “that Christmas lights are the electronic version of fireworks…?”  _ Oh almighty,  _ he thought, mentally kicking himself,  _ anything but that. What does that even mean? _

But at his words Aziraphale instantly sat straighter in his seat and, to his surprise, giggled.

“Yes! You’re absolutely right my dear boy. I know ex- exactly what you mean!”

_ Phew,  _ Crowley internally sighed in relief,  _ that was a close one. _ Re-adopting his demonic persona, he smirked and gripped the wheel a little tighter.

“Of course. I’m always right.”

“Oh shush!” The angel rolled his eyes and laughed, and the tension between them dissolved. They were good again, contented friends again, and nothing more than that. They drove the rest of the way in comfortable quiet, the only sounds coming from Aziraphale when he saw any particularly interesting lights.

“We’re here!” The demon announced dramatically, and Aziraphale, who had now dipped back into the drunken mist, stifled a smile. Climbing carefully out of the car, the angel slipped on the ice and gasped, almost falling over- when a firm hand on the small of his back pushed him upright and grasped his shoulders, steadying him.

“Are you alright?” Crowley moved to face him, concern etched into every line of his face. Aziraphale was shaken by everything happening so suddenly, but he stammered out that he was fine, cheeks flushed not just from the cold. It was then Crowley became aware he was still holding very tight to Aziraphale’s upper arms and their faces were rather close indeed. Jolting back, he blushed furiously and apologised, but Aziraphale just looked at the ground, expression unreadable.

Looking up to face Crowley, he caught the demon’s eyes - or glasses - and grinned. 

“It’s a shame that we have all this cold weather and ice but no snow… hm?” A hidden question laced his voice.

_ Was this-? Asking for another miracle? Why? And- what? _ This left Crowley with so many questions that he would never ask. Instead, he opted for the one that would please Aziraphale the most- after all, he only ever wanted to make him happy.

“Well…” smirking, he snapped his fingers, and small white snowflakes began to rain stereotypically slowly from the sky. The angel gave a delighted gasp, and reached out to hold them in his hands. Laughing at him, Crowley leaned back and stuck his forked tongue out, catching a few in his mouth while he smiled, and when he turned to Aziraphale he caught him staring with a look that he couldn’t decipher, but just as quickly the angel spun away like he hadn’t done anything at all. 

Walking together to the grey apartment block, they took their time, padding softly through the snow as it fell deeper and deeper, coating London quietly in an unexpected blanket of white. When they reached the door, Crowley went to walk up the steps leading to the main entrance when he paused because Aziraphale wasn’t behind him. Looking back, the angel was frozen to the spot, and something like dread showed in his features, eyes glued upwards. He followed his eyeline to a small plant with green leaves and white berries that was taped to the top of the archway. It was, unmistakably, mistletoe. And they were standing directly under it.

Crowley’s stomach dropped to the floor and he instantly began to explain that he had not put this there.  _ Was this some kind of sick joke from Down There? Who had done this, and why?  _ He stuttered through apologies and glanced frantically in all directions, unable to face the angel in front of him. He only looked up when he noticed that Aziraphale had taken a step closer. Now his heart had started up like a chainsaw, and he tried not to tremble.  _ What was he doing?  _ Aziraphale’s gaze was soft, like molten silver, and he took another step closer. Crowley took off his glasses now because  **something** was clearly going to happen here, and if his wildest longings were coming into reality then he just might die of happiness. And shock. Mostly shock.

Breathing slowly, Aziraphale took a final step and blinked. Raising his hand to cup Crowley’s cheek, he tilted towards him and kissed him gently on the mouth. Crowley’s pulse skyrocketed, but he nonetheless kissed back as soon as he realised that Aziraphale was, in fact, kissing him, and it wasn’t a dream. He tasted like wine and warmth, and when he pulled away his eyes twinkled like a thousand Christmas lights. Breaking out of his trance, Crowley stepped away in surprise, and Aziraphale’s face immediately dropped. He opened his mouth to apologise, terror filling his face, but Crowley quickly silenced him with another kiss. This time when they pulled away they were both smiling, breathless and embarrassed. Almighty, how long had it taken them to smooch? About bloody time, honestly. 

They started talking in the aftermath of that climactic moment, walking into the apartment hand in hand, and talked all night. Well, most of the night - Aziraphale did not go back to the bookshop that evening. You can figure that one out yourself. Somewhere, in a small cottage in Tadfield, Oxford, Anathema Device smiled at a job well done. Agnes’ prophecies did not always make sense, but now she understood why she had needed the mistletoe and the helpful directions, because she could feel the connection that had been forged and would last longer than a lifetime. A human lifetime, anyway. Closing the book, she went to bed and took her tea with her.  _ You know what? _ she thought,  _ it really is a merry Christmas. _

-end-

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> ahh hope u liked?? ey to everyone who Knows: I did the Thing and it went real bad can i get a wahoo up in here adhsjsj  
> maybe one day someone will love me!! til then i can only hope *finger guns while crying bc im Like That*  
> Also I’m rly sorry if anyone found me sayin jesus as a rly nice guy was blasphemous im just tryna write as Az here so apologies if I did offend  
> I hope u all have a wonderful holiday season, no matter what u celebrate!! Much love,  
> -con xx  
> ps: oh and if any o yalls have prompts then pls tell me bc writers block hits harder than a bullet train lmao  
> c ya!


End file.
